


The Beach

by Phileas



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Magic Realism, reference to the Trojan War because I can't help myself...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 09:07:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1852414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phileas/pseuds/Phileas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing comes from the sea any more. Or only jellyfish in stinging hordes.<br/>They taste like soy sauce and the Ocean in the Sunday soup.</p><p>[written for Creative Writing class]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beach

The Beach was down the sandy path under the house. It was an old house that my great grandmother had bought in 1923 when houses were cheap and my family was rich.

Just like any other beach, the air tastes like salt and seaweed. If you open your mouth long enough, you can crunch the sand between your tongue and your teeth.

There are no seagulls any more. Not since the great storm of 1985. Not since the formation of the cave at the end of the creak.

 

The sand is always wet under your feet because the beach is always cold. There is no more sunshine to warm the skin. They used to talk about it on the radio. We would sit in the veranda above the Beach and listen to the deep voice that came from the broadcaster, talking about things that made no sense but explained it all. Granny nodded, I sipped tea without muffins.

 

Nothing comes from the sea any more. Or only jellyfish in stinging hordes. They taste like soy sauce and the Ocean in the Sunday soup. And the insects on the walls that echo the sound of the waves crashing against the ever-wet sand, and the sound of the Beast in the cave at the end of the creak.

Sometimes you find small shells among the pebbles. Empty shells smelling of decay and salt, the overwhelming salt that enters everywhere. It's a long beach and sometimes it takes a full day to cover everything. Mum went for a stroll one day. I don't think she's reached the other side yet, I don't think she's coming back.

 

Early in the morning, you can hear the rustle of the flowers atop the dunes. The wind is strong here, that's why no one comes to bathe any more. Granny says that, once, the Beach was filled with the sounds of people chatting and laughing, throwing themselves against the rumbling waves coming from Far Away. Now in the sad silence of the salt, I cannot believe it. I walk on the Beach and I step on the soft mountains of jellyfish along the shore as if my war too had lasted 9 years. But I wear no one's armour and there are no sons of deities in my bed, waiting for my return with regal pale tights and a hundred embraces.

 

The cave is damp, cold and deep as I run inside its entrails. The sand shifts under my feet and I scream in delight. The Beast is behind me, so close I can feel its breath on my neck, stinking of diluted blood and rotting seaweed. I run and then I fall and the sand tastes like nothing until it tastes of myself, until the Beach crushes me whole, between its jaws.

 

 

 

 


End file.
